Dear Mrs Brian Cashman.

You don't know me but I am the your husband's lover. His plaything. His hot toasty piece of pastry. His little english tart that he loved to munch on every day he was away from you.

You see he doesn't love you. He never did. He only loved me. That is why we had an affiar. He got me pregnant you know. He had too. It is a law that all the general managers of New York Sports teams have to get someone pregnant out of wedlock. Steve Philips did it with my new friend Brooke who is my roomnate at Rikers. M Donald Grant liked to butt fuck Carol Channing on his desk at Shea Staduim. And George Young used to eat out Lauren Bacall on his desk during Giant home games. Plus he let Bon Jovi blow him. So I am part of a long and gloried New York Tradition. And there is nothing you can do about it.

I know you are behind the fact that he taped me and got a restraining order. It is the same shit that happened with all those other guys. And my mother. And the rest of my family. I have more orders than Popeyes after the Diddy concert. So it don't matter to me. I love your husband. He is meant to be with me. This is not going to stick like Brian's jism did to the roof of my uterus. Once I get out of jail I am going to come and discuss it with you. Brooke is gonna lend me her car.

So just a word of advice. Look both ways when you are crossing the street. Especailly if you see an Camry with a cracked windshield.

See you soon bitch.

Toodles.
Your new freind
Jeeeze Louise.